


Au Voleur

by orphan_account



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Heist, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23813275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Vic Vega and Eddie Cabot team up to pull off an art heist in their early 20s.
Relationships: Mr. Blonde/"Nice Guy" Eddie Cabot
Kudos: 59





	Au Voleur

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! second fic since middle school aka since i became actually decent with my writing. i'm kind of proud of this hehe <3 feedback very much appreciated!!!  
> cw for mild gun violence.

_ 1 PM on a Thursday afternoon in July, early 1980s. The J. Paul Getty Museum of Art, Los Angeles, CA. Eddie Cabot and Vic Vega are casing the joint. _

“You think we’re blending in okay?” Eddie murmurs to Vic. 

They’re clad in all black, turtlenecks and slacks. Eddie insisted on wearing a white wig and large Iris Apfel-esque glasses. (“I saw it on TV, Andy Warhol documentary, he had that white hairdo and everything. It’ll look great.” Vic is adamant that it doesn’t.) 

“Yeah, sure, ‘cept for those dumb glasses and the obvious wig. I told you not to wear it -- we’re getting stares.”

“Everyone just thinks I look cool as hell, Vic. Duh.”

Vic rolls his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. We’re supposed to be art-loving husbands.” Eddie says gallantly, holding up his left hand to show off the gleaming golden band on his ring finger. 

“I still don’t know why we have to be married. Can’t two adult men go to an art museum on their own, as friends?”

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Warhol --”

“Look, Vic, there it is!” Eddie cuts him off with a gasp of excitement, pointing towards a painting on the opposite wall. “Manet’s  _ Spring _ , the one I was talking about!”

Vic follows the line drawn out by Eddie’s finger to the painting. “Yeah, what’s so special about it?”

“It’s his final piece in his career for the Paris Salon, and it was the first ever artwork printed in color! It’s monumentally important in art history!” 

“And? I didn’t take that gay-ass art history class at LACC. All that academic shit’s boring.”

Eddie winces. “It’s not gay. It’s cool.”

“You wrote a paper on a bunch of nude sculptures of guys. That’s pretty gay to me.”

“Shut up. If you really don’t care about the history of it, you’ll at least care that the museum paid over 65 mil for it.” 

“Shit, man, why didn’t you lead with that? It’s great. Love it. Amazing work, the craftsmanship is exquisite --”

“Shut up.”

Vic bends over in laughter. “Okay, so we have the piece picked out. We already took notes on the exits, entrances, cameras, sensors, and number of guards, so what next?”

“We should check how close we can get to the art without triggering an alarm.”

“Right, but how do we do that without drawing attention to ourselves? We don’t want to point ourselves out as suspects or raise suspicions,” Vic says. He thinks for a second, then his face lights up with a shit-eating grin. “Wait -- I have an idea.”

Before Eddie can reply, Vic is already moving towards the painting. 

_ “Oh, shit.”  _ Eddie thinks as he watches Vic nonchalantly push a child toward the painting before walking away calmly as the alarm sounds and guards make their way over to reprimand the kid. 

Vic returns triumphantly, gloating at a fuming Eddie. 

“What exactly did that accomplish aside from getting that little 7 year old in trouble?”

“I watched for the alarm to go off. We could get within about six inches on either side of the painting before the alarm sounds. Plenty of room for us to grab it.”

Eddie sighs. “Okay, fine. But next time use someone other than a kid, yeah?”

Vic shrugs. “If it was anyone older, they’d be in more trouble. Kids don’t know shit about art -- comes off as an honest mistake.”

Eddie scrunches his face up. “Fine, I guess.” 

“The ends justify the means, yeah?”

“Machiavelli? I thought all that ‘academic shit’ was boring.”

“Okay, most of it. I liked Machiavelli.  _ The Prince _ was good.”

“Never pegged you for the type to enjoy 14th century Italian political science literature.”

“Whatever. Let’s go -- we got what we came here for.” Vic turns on his heel and walks away.

Eddie blinks and raises his hands in perplexion.

\---

_ The following Monday, late into the night. Eddie Cabot’s office. Eddie is pacing the floor while Vic leans back in Eddie’s chair. _

“Would you stop that? It’s not going to help us figure out how to get into the Getty.”

Eddie throws his hands up in the air. “Well, what do you have to contribute here? We’re supposed to be pulling this off  _ tomorrow night _ . And we have  _ nothing _ .” He pauses, then hesitantly begins, “Maybe if we … told Daddy about this, he could get someone on the inside --” 

“Absolutely not! I want to do this on our own. We  _ always _ rely on your dad for help. We gotta do this on our own, yeah? Prove to ourselves we can handle shit on our own. We got our own guns and everything, and with your car --”

“Hold on, you think I’m using my own car for this shit? The way they could easily trace it back to us --”

“Okay, fine, so we boost someone’s car. We can  _ do _ this.” 

Eddie takes a deep breath. “You’re right. Okay, so, we have to break in. How?”

Vic smiles with all of his teeth. “Okay, so …”

\---

_ The following Tuesday, 4:55 pm, 5 minutes before LACMA’s closing hours. LACMA’s Ahmanson building. Eddie and Vic are milling around the first floor.  _

A voice sounds from the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, the museum will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the exits. We thank you for your patronage and hope to see you soon.” 

Eddie and Vic look at each other and nod. They head in separate ways to the bathrooms on opposite sides of the museum. 

\---

_ Tuesday night, 9 PM. Northside bathroom of LACMA’s Ahmanson building. Vic lies in wait for a janitor inside a bathroom stall. _

The door opens, and the sound of a cleaning cart on tile echoes through the bathroom. Vic readies himself for the stall door to open, pulling his Beretta 92 out of his boot and unengaging the safety mechanism.

“Hello?” comes the voice of the janitor. 

Vic swings the door open, brandishing his gun. “Hello.” 

The janitor’s eyes pop open. “You -- you aren’t supposed to be here, I --”

“Well, I am. What’re you going to do about it?”

“I -- I’m going to call security --”

The janitor reaches for his pager, but barely touches it before Vic is tackling him to the ground, smashing the pager in the process. He gives a swift blow to the underside of the other man’s jaw, rendering him unconscious. 

Vic stands up, brushing himself off, pulling out a pair of handcuffs (a “gift” (read: stolen item) from his last run-in with the law), and busying himself with securing the janitor’s hand to a pipe under the sinks. 

\---

_ 10 minutes later. Southside bathroom of LACMA’s Ahmanson building. Eddie rests against the stalls, waiting for Vic.  _

The bathroom lock clicks open and Vic enters, dangling the janitor’s keys from his fingers with a smirk plastered across his face.

“I’m guessing it went well from that simpering look on your face.”

“Janitor’s secured in the northside bathroom. No guards in sight. I guess they have pretty lax security or somethin’.” 

“Just because  _ you _ didn’t see any doesn’t mean there aren’t any. We still have to be careful.”

“I know that, Eddie, I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“What’s that mean?”

Eddie’s smirk widens. “Nothin’.” 

“Eddie --” Vic begins with a warning tone. 

“Oh, my god, let go of your ego. We’ve got no idea how much time we have.” Eddie brushes past Vic, who throws his hands up in exasperation.

\---

_ 15 minutes later. In front of Manet’s  _ Spring _ in LACMA’s Ahmanson building. Vic is keeping watch while Eddie cuts the painting out of its frame with Vic’s pocket knife.  _

“Hurry up, Eddie, I think I hear someone.”

“You’re just being paranoid, Vic, you said yourself there aren’t any guards around.”

“And you said there might be!”

“There’s no time to worry about that now, Vic, we’ve got to just dive in. No point getting squirrely now.”

“Yeah, I guess --”

A flashlight strikes the pair. “Stop! Stop! Drop the knife! Hands up!” An angry voice sounds out of the dark.

Vic grabs Eddie’s arm, but Eddie remains where he is, frantically slicing at the painting’s edges. 

“Eddie, Eddie, forget the painting, come on, come on!” Vic hisses, pulling at Eddie’s sleeve. 

“Hang on, hang on --”

“Drop it! Drop the knife and hands in the air”

Vic whips his head around and sees the guard wielding a gun.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, he’s got a gun, come on, come on, please, forget the painting --”

“I can’t, Vic, I have to --”

A gunshot sounds and Eddie’s on the ground. Vic feels his blood run cold. He slowly turns around, pulling his gun from his pocket intently and staring down the guard, who, at the sight of Vic’s imperilling gaze, falters. Vic takes the opportunity to shoot him at least a dozen times, if not more, having lost all inhibitions since Eddie was shot. The guard falls to the floor, dead before he hits the ground, and Vic hoists Eddie up by the shoulders and cleanly rips the painting from its frame before making a break for it.

\---

_ The next morning, Eddie’s bedroom. Eddie lies in bed asleep while Vic is passed out at his bedside. _

Eddie stirs, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. As his vision comes into focus, he makes out Vic, head resting on the bed and sleeping soundly. 

“Vic. Hey, Vic.” Eddie nudges his shoulder and Vic starts. 

“Shit, Eddie, I was sleeping.” Vic mumbles, raising his head.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Well, I'm sorry, Vic, but I just woke up with a gunshot wound in my shoulder and I’m a bit confused as to how I even got in my bed with fresh pajamas on.”

“You got shot by a guard and I carried you home. I think you passed out from shock or something, ‘cause the bullet just barely grazed you. Didn’t even have to really dig it out or anything.”

“And the pajamas?”

“Well, I wanted you to be comfortable, you know? Man gets shot by a guard during an art heist, least I can do is make sure he wakes up in clean clothes.”

“Yeah right. You just wanted to see me naked.”

Vic’s cheeks flush a light pink. “No way, Eddie. As if anyone would ever want to see you naked.”

Eddie pushes at Vic’s shoulder sportively. “Whatever you say, Toothpick. You were at least concerned enough to carry me out of there.”

“I wasn’t concerned for you, asshole, I was concerned about the fact that your dad would skin me alive if I left you there.”

“Yeah? The bags under your eyes tell a different story.” 

Vic’s face flushes again. 

“Hey, what about the painting?”

Vic internally lets out a sigh of relief, grateful for the opportunity to hide his blush. He digs around in Eddie’s backpack before pulling out a rolled up canvas, turning around to face Eddie with a grin.

“Safe ‘n sound.” Vic says, unfurling the canvas.

“Shit, Vic, you got it? Eddie says, doe-eyed adoration spreading across his face. “C’mere.” He opens his arms for an embrace. Vic takes it and holds Eddie tightly, arms constricting around him and fingers pressing small circles into Eddie’s back. 

“Oh, see, Toothpick, you  _ were _ worried --”

“Shut up.” Vic says, pausing before mumbling, “Maybe a little.”

“Told you so --”

“Shut up!” 

Eddie laughs into the crook of Vic’s neck and Vic feels the tension leave his body.

“ _ He’s okay. He’s safe. You’re both safe.” _


End file.
